


Konpeito

by velvetcat09



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, star tear disease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25164559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcat09/pseuds/velvetcat09
Summary: Hijikata thought they were like konpeito candies.===Star Tear disease is similar to Hanahaki disease.
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 13
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this artwork (https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/74014576)
> 
> For the explanation of the disease (https://twitter.com/rchimedesu/status/1246209686682185730)
> 
> Anyway happy birthday to myself I guess, haha.

He thought they were konpeito candies.

Hijikata was just finishing another report when he saw the glittering things. He counted, three of them. White, light blue, and green; Hijikata wasn’t wrong to call them konpeito because they’re shaped like it. His second thought was, _did someone prank him and hid candies on him?_ His mind went to Sougo, but the thought of candies immediately drove it to the Yorozuya station. His third thought was, _have I been hanging out too much with the Yorozuya that I’m being covered with candies by him?_

He heard a chime of _something_ and before he knew it, another star rolled over his papers. It was light blue but a shade darker than the previous one. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and plopped it into his mouth. Sweets weren’t his thing at all but he’s not unfamiliar with this kind of candy, he knew the taste of pure nothing-but-sugar and was expecting just that. What assaulted him, however, was nothing he could ever expected.

Nothing. It tasted of nothing.

It melted in his mouth and gone in an instant but _dear God_ , his whole body convulsed at the pain gripping his chest. The moment it was gone, something replaced it immediately and surged through his entire body. The aftertaste was potent. It felt like having his lung punctured and there was iciness he couldn’t shake off from the tips of his fingers.

If it were as simply as poison, Hijikata could accept it. He could accept the thought of being assassinated by a sadist, he was very much accustomed to it already. What he couldn’t accept was the cascading images of Sakata Gintoki flooding his mind as he closed his eyes in pain. It really was _something_ when he couldn’t even bring himself to call the man with anything other than his name.

He heard it again. More chime of _something_ , twinkling. Hijikata saw it with his own two, now painfully blurry, eyes. More of that agonizing stars. They were of various colors, their sizes were all the same, just like konpeito. Hijikata couldn’t come up with an explanation until he saw his reflected image from his black phone screen on the table. Those stars really were the only shining thing in the room and Hijikata saw them trailing from his eyes. From the dam that were his eyes, sliding over his cheeks, flowing like waterfall. One by one falling, from liquid to solid in a fraction of a second. Crystalizing tears.

Hijikata didn’t know what to do so he waited until the falling stars subsided. Then he gathered them all into a small pile and put them in the empty cigarette box in his pocket. When the last star rolled on the table, his last thought was the after image of a silver-haired samurai.

* * *

It became a nightly routine.

Hijikata thanked whoever it is Upstairs, that the stars didn’t start spilling anytime during the day. He started sleeping on his side when he realized his bizarre case of crying only happened moments after going to bed. The stars pooled on one side and Hijikata was left to only watch the faint glow of the colorful pieces. It became a nightly routine to cry and have the image of a figure in his head as he silently wept. Always the back of him, never the face. As if afraid to see, to know. The stars spilled with a twinkle that was dampened by his futon.

There are rare things that the Demon Vice-Commander of The Shinsengumi will only admit to himself during dark hours. One; that during battles or pursuit, a small fraction of him deliberately let his guard down to receive _at the very least_ a hit as if some sort of self-punishment. Two; that he really wasn’t as strong as everyone made him up to be, there are people _stronger_ than him, _at the very least_ a particular one, even he knew to admit to one’s loss from time to time. Three; that in truth, he relied on others more than they relied on him.

If it were just the stars, he’d confide it with _at the very least_ Yamazaki so that the guy could gather info on this peculiar occurrence. Hijikata would have another voice in this perplexing situation and it would feel as if the problem with his body is not his alone. He’d have to read the useless essay of a report of his findings, but it would’ve been more than what he actually have. He could tell Kondo-san; Sougo would find him and mock him. He wouldn’t be alone.

But then there’s the main part where all he could think during this pathetic hour was Sakata Gintoki. He couldn’t tell the others without admitting that the moment those dazzling pieces fell, his mind zeroed on one thought and one alone. There was an ache he couldn’t explain that lingered ‘til the waking hours. It made itself a permanent resident somewhere in his ribcage. He began piecing it one by one and always, _always_ , something akin to fear embedded at each edge of the puzzle pieces. And even now, as Hijikata watched hollowly at the last star landing on the white sheet, he couldn’t bring himself to call the usual names of that silver figure.

How do you tell people that the Demon Vice-Commander of The Shinsengumi cried himself to sleep every night?

* * *

Hijikata noticed it during a lunch time on Friday.

His bowl of rice might be called dog food with the amount of mayonnaise on top of it, but he’s not a heathen that doesn’t dip his tempura with proper soy sauce. He was just about to grab the bottle of dipping sauce when he realized it. The place he always frequented, they have several bottles of condiments. They have two types of soy sauce, he only liked one of them and he never failed to distinguish them despite the similar bottle cases because they have different colored caps. But right here, right now, Hijikata was at lost when he couldn’t figure out which bottle was it. They looked, colored exactly the same, and Hijikata realized—more like finally acknowledged it, that his eyesight was deteriorating.

Up until that point he kept denying the slight pain that followed after each nightly session. He’d wake up with _something_ lingering in his heart and a throbbing head. But he always dismissed the gradual dullness in his view. He ignored it when the sky didn’t look as blue as it used to, chalked it off as his own gloom. His world gradually became muted and he didn’t give a thought about it. If anything, he sort of welcomed it with his gradual somberness. It suited him now, he had thought.

But right here as he watched and realized that this wasn’t just a destination he could reach and be done with, but rather a progression towards something Hijikata doesn’t want to admit. He finally thought, these tears have consequences.

So, very unlikely of him, he requested a day off from Kondo-san. Hijikata didn’t look back once he heard Kondo-san said “Yes, Toshi!” to his request, he didn’t want to answer any questions that would certainly follow. On Sunday he passed and met the Yorozuya. He passed him when he was buying a pack of cigarette at the small shop. _Something_ had stopped within him and restarted again normally when he noticed the perm-head wasn’t stopping or looking back. Then he met the man again when he passed by the dango shop.

“Yo, I see the tax thief is enjoying our stolen money on his weekend, huh.” Hijikata was greeted with a familiar snicker and for some ungodly reason, Hijikata couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate the bite.

“Yo,” Was all he could manage as he took the spot near the perm-head but sat on the opposite direction. He really _still_ couldn’t face the man.

Gintoki is many things but a KY dumbass. His aloofness is both him being the bigger man to let the other have an exit and a form of defense. The moment he read no telltale of the vice-commander’s usual gripe, Gintoki dropped the remarks. It was useless.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” There were things that follow with that statement. Things like, despite their frequent cross-pathing plotline, their involvements in Edo’s safety; they havent’ seen each other as much as they used to. Their stories intertwined all the time but the participants no longer meeting eye to eye.

Hijikata was to blame. He knew.

“Oh.” The vice-commander quietly ordered himself a plate of dango and the Yorozuya silently finished his own. Shoulder to shoulder, but back to back.

They said nothing, bid each other nothing. The only thing Gintoki noticed after Hijikata left was no trace of mayonnaise on his plate.

In a small alley, as the sun was setting, Hijikata couldn’t stop the stars from falling.

* * *

“Ah, Toshi, yesterday’s report—” Hijikata paused. He blinked and remembered. How could he forget in the first place, when his entire daily schedule was always about finishing reports, how in God’s name could he forgot about yesterday’s?

“I’ll get it today, sorry, Kondo-san.” He couldn’t face his superior but Hijikata knew damn well a worried pair of eyes were drilling the top of his head. “It’s—my bad, I’m just.. _tired_ , I guess.”

Kondo didn’t reply immediately but the pause itself was answer. Then a hand found its place on his shoulder. “Take Sunday off again.”

So, he did. He wore the same yukata and went on the same route as last week. The same steps but for some reason, Hijikata didn’t remember the original. As he repeated his encounter with Gintoki, it felt like the first time since weeks. They sat on the same spots, same positions.

“I thought you don’t like sweets.” Gintoki said while shoving dango to his face, eyes somewhere across the street. Hijikata still couldn’t see what the man see, probably will never see again.

As he picked his own dango and brought it near his mouth, Hijikata thought he heard a twinkle. “Me too.”

They ended it just like last week. Hijikata then cried in the alley just like last week. But he couldn’t remember the reason of that small portion of stars in the fourth cigarette box. Where did he cry that one out, _ah_ , he couldn’t remember.

On the third Friday, Hijikata stopped himself as he was just about to do his nightly paperworks. By now everything has dulled significantly but the man couldn’t bring himself to care of colors. As long as he could identify things by sight, color is not of importance. But here he was, standing with a paper in hand and choking on his own breath as he realized another thing for this _damn_ week. It was darkening.

Something stung and he immediately shut his eyes.

Hijikata noticed, realized, and concluded, if this crying continues, he’d go blind.

This time he requested another day off. Sougo was there with Kondo-san when he was granted that Sunday to himself again. Hijikata left before he could hear any remarks from the two.

Even though he remembered his last week encounter with Gintoki, remembered the paths and their spots. He couldn’t remember the reason to call the man anything other than his given name. There were faint, fuzzy, memories of other names but he couldn’t figure it out for the life of him. Silver was all that was now attached to the man and all Hijikata could see was the back of said man. He still was afraid.

By the second week, he had already come to the conclusion of the ache in his chest. He didn’t name it, knew the word but didn’t want to give name to something he still hadn’t come to term with. But knowing itself was enough to have said thing blaring every time he saw the subject to his tears. With identifying comes knowing the meaning and Hijikata felt like inhaling ice.

Sitting back to back on that dango shop again, this time they didn’t exchange a single word. Both knew, Hijikata been avoiding Gintoki for weeks now. Their moments here were their only meetings. Gintoki was the one to start a conversation every time but, as Hijikata looked down to his dango; the color of the sauce looking as the same shade as the mochi itself, the man had given up on starting the futile act.

Maybe this will be the last time he’d see Gintoki.

He felt the prickle, finished his plate, and paid in silence before walking to the same place, same time. In hindsight he should’ve checked if he accidentally spilled but his mind was only filled with finding a much more remote place this time. This time he planned on pouring everything out.

Hijikata found a spot at the outskirt of the town, a similar looking alley. Dark despite the sun setting down, but it was probably from his own fading eyesight. It was perfect and Hijikata wanted to smile. Perfect for crying.

Twinkle twinkle little stars, huh.

His lips quivered as he bit down his choking breaths. Konpeito, he called them because it reminded him of the very reason itself. He had forgotten many things, so he begged at his own heart to let him clung to one thing, at the very least.

The chimes filled the alley and there was no softening the sound of them falling on the ground. Hijikata crouched down, hoping that the shorter the distance, the less force it’ll have, the less it’ll ricochet, the less the noise it’ll make. As much as he tried to be silent throughout the whole thing, he couldn’t stop the choking and occasional sharp intakes of breath. His entirety hurt, Hijikata wondered if puking the stars out would’ve been better than crying them out.

“Oi,”

God, _please_.

He felt the man more than he heard him. “Hijika—” Finally he saw the man’s face and Hijikata couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen that expression on him before. He saw shock, worry; maybe if he breaks apart the ingredients, he could determine the purpose of that expression. Hijikata saw that shock replaced with a painful scowl. “Who is it for?”

Hijikata didn’t understand but even more so the answer that came out from him. He wondered if he might be puking out the stars themselves at this point with how painful it was to say it. “ _You_.”

In a sudden motion he was yanked into broad chest, they both fell to the ground and Hijikata couldn’t stop the stars to spill onto Gintoki’s yukata. “ _Hijikata_.”

There was something raw in Gintoki’s voice as he murmured that into Hijikata’s hair. There was something fragile with how Gintoki searched for his right hand before intertwining their fingers. There was something precious with the way he was held. A secrecy being whispered but Hijikata couldn’t hear it through the twinkling noise. He didn’t hear it consciously, but he guessed his heart listened carefully from the very beginning since the pain slowly, gradually, eased. Hijikata kept his eyes shut and even if he were to open them, what greet him would still be darkness as he’s pressed tightly, dearly, into Gintoki’s chest.

Those konpeito the only source of light in the alley now.

* * *

Hijakata woke up with a start, he blinked over the unknown and known ceiling. He was in someone else’s futon and everything was still dark, save for the moonlight peeking from the window. It was _something_ when he remembered who he was with moments ago. He guessed he might have passed out from exhaustion and was brought to this place. He was not unfamiliar with the Yorozuya but this room was certainly unfamiliar to him. He’s never been to this particular room, after all.

Feeling like intruding, Hijikata peeled himself from the futon and exited. He knew more than saw the figure sitting on their usual perch facing the window. Hijikata saw colors but he didn’t bring himself to hope, yet.

Gintoki kept his back on Hijikata, however there was no air of instructing the other to leave so Hijikata took it on his own to sit on the sofa. The only shade of Gintoki that Hijikata willed to look right now was his silhouette casted by the moonlight, anything else would be hoping for something he’d yet to dare.

“I’ve seen them before,” Something in the air was prodding gently at Hijikata to reply but he hesitated. “don’t worry, there’s only me, Kagura is sleeping over at Shinpachi’s.” _Oh, he was worried?_ Hijikata didn’t even know what he was feeling.

Gintoki stood from his chair, Hijikata felt more than saw when the man took the seat next to him on the sofa. Their knees brushed and that was all Hijikata willed to see. There were no more tears, but the fear still lingered. His heart at ease but his mind still clouded, it seemed. Doubtful, the mind of the Vice-Commander of The Shinsengumi will always be plagued with wariness.

“I heard of the myth once,” Something underlying that tone but Hijikata thought it wasn’t yet the time to dig that can of worm, he spared Gintoki the emotional baggage. “crying out stars, caused by unrequited love. You won’t stop crying until your love is returned.” Hijikata wondered why he’s not crying now, felt like an appropriate time. “I thought they were bullshit, but I saw them myself during the war. Someone actually cried out stars. They died, I never got to ask anything at them.”

There was this unspoken air between them, of something already answered, yet Hijikata couldn’t _damn_ figure out what it was. He wanted, desperately, to know; so that he could come to a conclusion. So that this bizarre case of _myth_ could be put to rest. Or maybe what he wanted all along was peace for his mind as well, he felt cheated that only his heart knew.

There were two cigarette packets that he carried as of the past couple weeks. One filled with actual tobacco, the other a used box devoid of its original content. Hijikata pulled out the latter and spilled its content on the table, careful not to have them roll over and spill onto the floor. They became the second source of light in the room.

“There’s couple more back in my room, I carry an empty box just in case.” Hijikata didn’t know what Gintoki would say but the answer that he got weren’t that far off. Gintoki said nothing and leaned to inspect the stars. They’re tiny and Hijikata had never seen Gintoki holding something _that_ careful before. Rather than ached, his chest bloomed.

“How did it feel?”

“Painful.”

Hijikata could paint more, could describe it, but that single shade seemed more than enough. There was no further question asked so he thought that sufficed. Slowly, he was reacquainting himself with the colors. He couldn’t see Gintoki’s face still, but not from his decision, it was Gintoki’s own angle that didn’t reveal it.

He wondered if he could see Gintoki’s shade of maroon again.

It was slow rather than abrupt, Gintoki allowed the other more than enough room for escape. But Hijikata found himself waiting for those hands to cradle his face, for those eyes to meet his. That expression on that face was something new. It reflected the word Hijikata just said before with something else tethering on it. In just the span of moments, Hijikata was shown more than enough new things about Gintoki to last a lifetime. He didn’t know if he could live without seeing them ever again. After all, he could see Gintoki’s shade of maroon again.

“I’m sorry that it hurt. You don’t have to cry them out anymore.” And just like that his mind was at ease, finally.

* * *

Hijikata’s internal alarm clock chimed as per usual and he casually untangled himself from the mess of limbs that were Gintoki’s arms and legs. The man murmured something, Hijikata didn’t hear it. He needed to return before the entire barrack woke up.

There was nothing more than a cuddle session after their heart-to-heart last night. Just smiles that both had never seen on each other’s faces, something intimate and secret, yet innocent. Just like how Gintoki had asked Hijikata, too soft and polite to ever be forgotten by his memory. That small request was forever ingrained in his brain. “May I keep these?” Nothing more, nothing less; Hijikata nearly kissed him then and there.

So he left that used cigarette carton with its content in Gintoki’s safe keeping. He left more than just that, but both knew, no words needed.

Hijikata gently, silently slid the door open. The moment one of his foot set on the porch, he knew his stealth had been for nothing. He was a fool. What was he thinking, leaving silently like a thief, _tax thief_. He chuckled mentally.

Hijikata felt more than saw the figure leaning on the wall in the entryway.

“Next Sunday,” Gintoki didn’t have to finish his sentence. That other thing that he left in Gintoki’s safe keeping already resonating between them. Hijikata smiled at him before sliding the door closed. “ _Next Sunday_.”

Kondo-san saw him entering his own room when he returned to the barrack, the commander didn’t ask anything once he saw the faint ghost of a smile on Hijikata’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gintoki's PoV as promised

The thing about candies these days are that their aftertaste _sucks balls_ ; the more artificial it is, the more horrible its lingering taste. The same applied to everything, this Gintoki knew because he considered himself a connoisseur when it came to sweets and has tasted just pretty much about all there is to taste. Boastful, but has Gintoki ever been anything less? His pride and reputation would never let it _happen,_ but Gintoki deeply admitted that even his glorified strawberry milk has a sour aftertaste.

Can’t be help. All that is fake is _fake_.

That was why, despite everything—ah, perhaps _in spite_ of everything, Gintoki would always return to recipes maintained through generations. They kept the same ingredient, same method of preparation, the smallest hint of modification that only ever enhance, a taste so familiar and intrinsic to its culture that perhaps already ingrained into their DNA. Eating traditional sweets felt like coming home to Gintoki.

Konpeito candies are nothing but sugar molded into stars. They’re sweet and that’s it. No aftertaste.

Gintoki bashed his head over the nearest utility pole. Did he really about to compare the Demon Vice-Commander of The Shinsengumi with konpeito candies— _unbelievable_. He really was just about to say that the sight of the man was sweet and left no sourness in his mouth— _utterly unbelievable_. Where did this even come from.

Ah, the guy noticed him.

Oh no, he looked amused.

Awh, he looked swe—

Gintoki bashed his head one last time before walking away from the scene.

* * *

Was that really the last time Gintoki saw the vice-commander?

His thoughts drifted from here to there as he hammered down the roof one shingle at a time. The sky was blue and Gintoki only had his eyes casted down since the start of the day. He’d argue that it was for the sake of his thumb and forefinger, but who was he arguing with? His own mind? Heart? What were they even arguing in the first place? He couldn’t help the occasional glance over the street down there, it was a similar spot like where he first met the irritable vice-commander, after all. Curse the memory of a place. So it went like this; every two or three roof plates he fixed, he’d cast his gaze somewhere else, then he realized what he was doing, shook his own mind, then return to fixing two or three roof plates again. It was a dangerous repetition despite the calming pattern. It made him productive.

Only Thursday and the man already lost what’s left of his little will to finish the week. Well, it wasn’t like it was unnatural for him to give up easily in the first place. He saw black on the corner of his eyes and Gintoki nearly snapped his neck. He cursed inwardly because if he _did_ crack his neck just from mistaking some background bakufu dog on daily patrol as him—

Ah, lately Gintoki never let himself finished his own thoughts.

* * *

Last week went by without him noticing. Mainly because he was preoccupied sorting out his own self. It was another Thursday when Gintoki noticed another thing. They were skittering over each other’s paths. Well, more like the _vice-commander_ was skittering over their paths. By now the Yorozuya had come to terms with their ever-entangling affairs. It seemed he always ended up beating the crap out of the week’s villain and the Shinsengumi always ended up cleaning the mess afterwards. It became natural to cross path. And it wasn’t unnatural for him to see the vice-commander during the man’s own patrol as well.

You could bribe him with as many sweets as you like but the fact remained, that Sakata Gintoki _does not_ change his path. So, really, when they ceased to pass each other, it wasn’t his fault at all.

On Saturday Souichirou-kun got him on talking under the pretense of some chocolate parfaits. Kids these days with tainting dessert time with lies. Sougo mentioned about the vice-commander so Gintoki only did what the other started, he let the kid’s ramble went from left to right without a single stop in the middle station.

On Sunday he decided to wash away the taste of whipped cream by returning to the ol’ comforting genius of a creation in Japanese cuisine that is dango. He almost choked on the skewer when he saw him from the corner of his eyes.

“Yo, I see the tax thief is enjoying our stolen money on his weekend, huh.” It took way more than he usually mustered to get that sentence out in his trademark sneer.

“Yo,” _Really, Vice-commander-san?_

Another bark was right at the tip of his tongue when it died down almost instantly at sight of the other’s face. It was chaste, the other already took a seat when he finally noticed it; not facing him. But Gintoki saw that nonetheless, there were marks unbefitting of The Demon Vice-Commander of The Shinshengumi underneath those eyes. They looked puffy.

Something gripped his chest.

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” Gintoki offered a neutral ground.

“Oh.” _Why did it sound so hollow?_

They sat in silence, ate in silence. They’ve never done that, have they?

Because it was the other’s habit of blaming everything on him in the first place, really, Gintoki was only following when he started suspecting it was his own fault. Was it something he had said, was it something he had done—no, the other would just yell that Gintoki’s mere existence was to blame. Usually.

When the other left without an insult; not even a glance, Gintoki _almost_ scowled in anger. It dissipated immediately when he saw no trace of the wretched garnish on the other’s plate. Come to think, where was the billowing smoke that usually followed?

Gintoki then realized, the side where Hijikata had just left was both warm and cold.

* * *

He found himself lingering. No, not stalking. But if your definition of stalking is wide enough in the first place, then this perm-head bum that kept walking near the Shinsengumi compound could be considered one. He wasn’t stalking any more than just stumbling around the area for _like_ , almost every pachinko night now. Almost, he defended to thin air.

They never passed each other again after and the Yorozuya noticed that Hijikata was actively avoiding now. More so than before. That has a bitter taste in his mouth and no matter the amount of strawberry milk he gulped down, Gintoki could not shake off the tightening in his chest. That single image, that last sight of Hijikata haunted him ever since.

Gintoki found himself searching for someone’s after image. Chasing.

When he met the man again at the same dango place, the now familiar tight feeling in his chest changed into something like sinking, dragging to the bottom of _somewhere_ with no room of letting go. There was exhaustion beyond compare in the other’s eyes and why did it feel like Hijikata didn’t recognize him for a second?

A week later and they found themselves at the same exactness. However, this time the image that haunted Gintoki’s mind wasn’t vacancy but rather _something_ that gnawed from the inside out. That sight of Hijikata burned in his retinas. He heard the other ordering his own plate but that felt like miles away rather than right beside him. Where was the Mayora’s bottle? Where was the Nicotine addict’s permanent scent?

“I thought you don’t like sweets.”

Something shone unnaturally from the corner of his eyes.

“Me too.”

Hijikata vacated the same manner as last week but what he left was something completely new. Gintoki pocketed it without a second thought, selfishly.

* * *

“Danna, are you listening?”

“I heard you the first time, no need to repeat it, Souichirou-kun.” The taste of strawberry syrup began to sour in his mouth. “Have you tried turning him off and on, you know those infome—”

“ _Danna_.”

Sougo looked but Gintoki didn’t. The family restaurant’s chatter didn’t quiet the stiff air on the table.

“I said I heard you.”

It was another Thursday when Gintoki didn’t finish his strawberry parfait.

* * *

When they met again at the dango shop for Sunday, Gintoki didn’t look up from his gaze on the road. To himself he’d say that he was sparing Hijikata the shame, but really, he was just sparing his own heart from everything. He worried that if he were to see Hijikata’s real face now, what he’d see is the image from last night instead.

Kagura stayed over Shinpachi for the weekend, so last night he was left alone with his own thoughts at the Yorozuya. Any other time he’d sleep it off like nothing but lately he could barely keep his eyes shut. So, out of curiosity and gnawing sense of faint recognition, Gintoki took out that single glowing thing from his pocket, light green. Familiar in shape and size; _so Hijikata eating candies now?_

Like the toddler that he was, Gintoki plopped it into his mouth.

No, it didn’t taste sweet like candy.

He was a war veteran, a demon on the battlefield. He’s sustained injuries that no other could ever handle and _still_ stood up with sword steady in hand, last man standing. But this pain— _God_ , this one assaulted him in a way he had never experienced. No, _no_ —he realized, he _had_ experienced this before, however, different. Similar but different, this kind of pain was not unknown to him. He would recognize it, there was no denying that he knew of this form of pain. Physically it felt similar, however the core was different.

Gintoki choked on his own breath in the living room, gripping at the edge of his desk. Pretty sure he left marks, but he really couldn’t care less about that right now. _Everything_ felt like being strangled from inside and out; _God, he felt like crying—_

That image—no, _this_ image.

Someone’s back; unwavering, unattainable. The feeling of not being able to grasp despite how far you tried to reach it. Not just from the inability, but from the deeply rooted anxiousness of the thought being able to hold it in your hands. What if it disappeared once you attained it? What if it melted right before your own eyes, whisked away just the last second? What if these hands weren’t strong enough to hold it in the first place? Afraid for the second time.

This image of a dark room. Not because it was dimly lit, but from the dimmed sight itself as if light were saying goodbye. Engulfing. The twinkling of something accompanied this painful experience. He caught sight of his own hands—someone’s hands, shaking before the pen slipped from their fingers. What he was seeing was glowing faintly like a beacon. They pooled over the papers, _pretty things_ , but why couldn’t he shake off this feeling of despair?

_Make it stop, please._

Someone pleading into nothing. He saw black with gold embroidery and that woke Gintoki out of it. He heaved in cold sweat.

Gintoki was too preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t realize their small window of that week’s interaction was already wasted. By the time he found his voice again, Hijikata already left without sayonara. From tightening, to sinking, to aching.

But then he saw more of those cursed twinkles and Gintoki immediately chased his silhouette.

He found Hijikata crouched in an abandoned alley.

His own voice hoarse when he called the other’s name.

“Hijika—”

Nothing could’ve prepared him. Gintoki had seen the aftermaths, had seen the trails it left, the telltale sign of a downpour, but he could never have predicted this very sight of Hijikata Toushirou crying out stars. They sparkle prettily onto the dirty ground, from one state of matter to the other unnaturally fast, unnaturally so. They glow, faint, but beautiful, and Gintoki couldn’t breathe. The taste still lingered in his mouth, after all.

And just like that he remembered a tale as old as time.

“Who is it for?” Who’s the bastard that did this? Who hurt you like this—

“ _You_.”

Everything stopped when he heard that, then everything began when he pulled Hijikata in. He could save him—

“ _Hijikata_.” They twinkled, they sparkled, they remained the brightest in the darkest hour.

Gintoki held him close, buried his own face in Hijikata’s hair. Not letting go, would never let go. The name his prayer, uttered with weight heavier than his heart could ever lift, but this burden, he was willing— _demanded_ to carry. Even now, he couldn’t help but be selfish. It’s the language he knew best.

“ _I love you too._ ” Whispered desperately because he knew it was tainted with selfishness. Nothing like the unconditional one Shouyo had shown, taught him. This was, has always been, the form of love that Gintoki could only declare.

It was his own back; he should’ve recognized it from miles away. _Ah_ , but perhaps because he tried to shut his eyes for so long, that when he saw his own figure staring back at him, he refused to acknowledge.

_I’m so sorry, Hijikata._

Sakata Gintoki selfishly loved him.

* * *

His hand hovered over the blanket he had just pulled over the man. The room was dark but Gintoki could see those lines as clear as day. Remnants of battles, surely. Even in slumber, Hijikata looked stressed. But knowing there was a progression of loosening, of healing, calmed his own storm. Gintoki was many things and a bunch of unsorted memories he definitely was. He left the room before his own hand could do something that he’s yet permitted.

The sight of Hijikata with glassy tears would forever be burned in his eyes. One that fished out a particular memory out of his muddled sea. He remembered Shouyo sensei. It was summer, close to Tanabata, he recalled. He had thought, _what a stupid tale_. But sensei had told him the story with a smile, so Gintoki kept that memory for the sake of that smile.

Then he saw how reality wasn’t as pretty as stories.

Charred ground, the scent of burned flesh and blood already made him forget of everything alive. At one point he himself forgot he was alive. He saw a figure hunched over another; faint sobs were heard. He checked out of habits. He hadn’t only heard the famed glittering noise but saw it with his own flesh the stream of stars. The man was crying over a battered corpse and the stars gathered in the caved chest, as if trying to fill in the wound, pitifully.

Gintoki had guessed it was because of the depressing situation. When you’re at the end of the line and you’ve given up everything, there is no holding back, no more secrets. The man started talking before Gintoki even opened his mouth.

“He was my eyes. He became my eyes after he found—I—he couldn’t return it, so he said he’d become my eyes instead.” The sobs were nerve wrecking. “I love him— _I love him so much!_ He protected me, this.. _useless_ me. All I could ever do is cry—” The sobs turned into wails.

“It hurts! Everything hurts! Why must he become my eyes—these _useless_ stars only brought nothing but pain!” He saw them clawed their unseeing eyes, saw those bloodied hands cradling the universe.

Then they jumped on Gintoki’s feet.

“Please, _please_ , Samurai-sama. _I beg you_ —please end this suffering! I can’t do this anymore— _Please, Samurai-sama!_ ”

He closed his eyes.

Gintoki had his back facing him when Hijikata entered the living room. Something settled between them and Gintoki was still _somewhere else._ He felt more than heard the rustling of the other sitting on his sofa. He let the thing settle again in the air before opening his maroon eyes.

“I’ve seen them before.” Hijikata didn’t reply, he hesitated and Gintoki could _feel_ it. “don’t worry, there’s only me, Kagura is sleeping over at Shinpachi’s.”

No, this wasn’t fair. He needed to be closer. Hijikata deserved more. _Better_.

Gintoki took the seat next to him on the sofa, everything and nothing coiling inside him. “I heard of the myth once,” He tried to start. “crying out stars, caused by unrequited love. You won’t stop crying until your love is returned.” His eyes and mind drifted somewhere—no, he needed to be here. Hijikata needed him to be here.

“I thought they were bullshit, but I saw them myself during the war. Someone actually cried out stars.” _Please, Samurai-sama!_ “They died, I never got to ask anything at them.”

They sat silently like back at the dango shop. Then Hijikata pulled out a carton from his pocket, it looked battered. Gintoki heard the now familiar noise and he knew immediately the content. He watched silently as Hijikata poured it over the table. They really looked like konpeito candies.

“There’s couple more back in my room, I carry an empty box just in case.”

In his active pursuit of undoing the hurt, Gintoki leaned down towards the softly glowing stars, accepted their beckoning. He picked one up and knew the taste of memory well. Gintoki was left stunned by his own thoughts. Dear Lord, _how many more?_

“How did it feel?”

“Painful”

_Please—_

Gintoki closed his eyes.

It washed over him like waterfall in winter. Refreshing and killing. Poetic and deathly. He moved to close the gap between them, apologetically slow because Gintoki knew his faults. Hijikata deserved more and he hoped, wished, with this pathetic look that could only convey so much.

“I’m sorry that it hurt. You don’t have to cry them out anymore.” The thousand apologies left unsaid but promised with each inch that they breached. Everything was poured but there were no tears fallen.

* * *

Gintoki woke just right after Hijikata, almost the same instance in fact. The justaway alarm would be useless today. He followed silently like a sick love-puppy that he was. But Hijikata promised him on the next Sunday and had done so with a smile that _really warmed_ his chest. So, he let that tax thief escaped.

It wasn’t like he planned on seeing him again later in the afternoon. Wasn’t planning on visiting the Shinshengumi compound ( _Hey, you’ve been to my room, now my turn, Oogushi-kun_.) to pester their Vice-commander before sleep. Wasn’t planning on bringing a Kewpie merch or something (if he found any during his grocery trip later). Wasn’t planning on asking about those other cigarette boxes.

 _No_ , he planned on asking if he could keep the others as well. Or, at the very least, _let me keep half of it_.

Love are meant to be shared, aren’t they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and enjoying this!! ahahaha truth be told ive only been over the mitsuba arc with gintama actually, aside from dozens of doujins/fanfics, i really dont have that much prior knowledge of them, i hope i did well!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure but if people would like to read it, I could write another from Gintoki's perspective. Thanks for reading!


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